Actions Speak Louder Than Words
by booey875
Summary: A nonverbal Hogan meets up with a talkative Marya. What could possibly go wrong? Missing Scene from "Is General Hammerschlag Burning?"


I want to say Thank You to my beta reader **Missy the Least** for her help.

Disclaimer: I don't own this show, any characters or the episode. The episode of "Is General Hammerschlag Burning?" originally aired on 11/18/1967 and was written by Richard M. Powell. I envision this Missing Scene coming in between when Hogan says to Kinch "Forget it." and when we see Hogan walk out from the kitchen area during the performance. There are references to two other Marya episodes: "Tiger Hunt in Paris" and "The Hostage".

Be sure to read the ample Author's Note/Historical Research at end of story.

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Actions Speak Louder Than Words

The kitchen of the Le Bal Africain nightclub buzzed with excitement. As the patrons were enjoying their dinner, the wait staff were quickly devouring their own. Recently, they never had it so good.

It was their luck that the proprietor of the legendary La Tour d' Argent restaurant had sent over his house specialty- a pressed duck - for the kitchen help to share.

The waiters could hardly contain their excitement. Usually a dinner consisted of a simple Jerusalem artichoke soup - and this was no way to eat if you were Parisian! However, due to food shortages, they were fortunate to eat at all.

Those waiters did not know that the esteemed restaurant's proprietor was active in the French Resistance movement and the food was sent over to acknowledge the fact that a helper of the Resistance named Papa Bear was secretly inside the club.

Little did the waiters know that the silent busboy next to them was none other than a disguised Papa Bear- aka Colonel Robert Hogan- himself.

Missions that took place within the City of Light's boundaries were usually fun but this was not particularly fun for Hogan.

Nothing had gone right from the start. He tried not to be bitter as he remembered how control of the mission was given to his subordinate, Sgt. James Ivan "Kinch" Kinchloe. And not only was Hogan uncomfortable in his busboy role, Kinch had made a wisecrack about his eyes as well.

Hogan finished his plate and nodded to the others as they went out to the floor. They had delegated him the task of staying behind to wash some dishes.

That interaction reminded Hogan of something really bothering him: he had to portray a mute.

Not being able to speak was killing Hogan. He tried to keep it in perspective that this was temporary. Kinch had confided in him that his nephew was a partially deaf mute, which gave him the idea, Poor kid suffered from 'nerves', was given to tantrums and seemed to be in a world all his own.

Hogan was saddened as he remembered Kinch's story. It was one thing to remain mute for a mission- but to have it be your life?

Thus distracted, Hogan began to scrub. He was so immersed in his work he missed the clicking of high heels coming from behind him.

"And here I thought being a busboy would be beneath the great Frank Durkin." a throaty female voice said.

A chill ran up Hogan's spine. It couldn't be her. Of all the people in Paris to run into, it had be _her_? He tried to ignore her voice. He wished she would go away. He hoped she didn't recognize him. But of course none of those things happened.

"I don't know why you are still looking that way. Isn't the sheer desire almost killing you?" she asked.

She began to tap her foot impatiently and Hogan knew he couldn't ignore her.

Hogan spun around and saw Marya, of course. He tried his best to act nonchalant with his body language. He almost began a retort, but he noticed someone nearby. He knew he had to keep up his nonverbal disguise- he wasn't going to let Kinch or the mission down.

"You are not happy to see me?" she pouted.

Hogan pulled a face. He wished he was anywhere else- an actual dentist appointment in Hammelburg looked real appetizing right now.

"You dress up in the colors of Stalin- I am swooning!" the White Russian proudly exclaimed.

Hogan sighed as he looked down at his red turtleneck and black leather coat. He had a bad feeling about this outfit and now he knew why.

"Don't I look great?" Marya asked.

Marya wore an amethyst colored A-line evening gown. A stole made of rabbit fur hung loosely around her shoulders. She also wore long, black gloves and her one hand carried a cigarette holder. Long gold earrings and gold pumps completed her look.

Hogan admitted to himself that she looked great but he wasn't about to let her know—even if he wanted to. He gazed at her stole. He idly wondered if Marya would be evil enough to skin the pelt off of Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. He playfully gave her outfit a thumbs down sign.

Marya's face turned red with rage.

"Is that so?" she snapped back.

Hogan frowned. She might make a scene and he needed to do something to make her leave. His frown turned to a smirk as an idea came to him. He stepped over and ripped off the grey-brown stole from her shoulders. He walked over to the basin holding cleaning liquid and began to drop it into the soap.

"Nyet!" she screamed. "This is a family heirloom- it belonged to my babushka!"

Hogan looked at her. The expression in his eyes told her he wasn't buying that explanation.

"Alright," Marya sighed. "A gift from German General Von Heiner. I will get information from him but not until later. Do you know him?"

Hogan was nonplussed by the name.

"Then you will...soon." she said cryptically.

Hogan shrugged. He handed the fur back to Marya.

Marya rearranged the stole back on her shoulders. She had a slightly puzzled look on her face- Hogan was concerned she would ask him about his silence.

"Where is General Hammerschlag? Have you seen him yet?" Marya asked sweetly.

Hogan glared at her. He wagged a disapproving finger to indicate that he did not want her involved.

Marya rolled her eyes.

"Should have known you'd ask help from that _cyka_ Kumasa. Or should I say...Carol Dukes?" she said, as she took a puff from her cigarette.

Hogan knew enough Russian to know Carol was called a bitch. He folded his arms impatiently and waited for an apology.

Marya raised her eyebrows.

"Or... perhaps I am wrong. I have it wrong because during this mission, _you_ are the cyka?" she asked.

Hogan's face fell. He couldn't believe Marya would say something like that to him.

Marya's eyes widened. Right away she knew she had hurt him. She took a tiny step back. Her voice was soft and remorseful as she apologized:

"I'm sorry I said that."

Hogan eyed her warily. He nodded to accept her apology. He thought the worst had happened but that wasn't true as Marya continued:

"I'm so frustrated, darling. Why aren't you talking…?"

Hogan used lightning-quick speed to put a hand up to her mouth. When he finally pulled his hand back, she smiled.

"Oh, you are touching me. Even though...there are better ways." she cooed suggestively.

Hogan sighed and cast a pleading look heavenward. He then put a finger to his lips to indicate he wanted her quiet. He was lucky only one waiter seemed curious about their interaction.

"I never saw you as a quiet type, Hogan darling..." she said.

Fear rose in Hogan once his real name was uttered in the kitchen. He noticed the others talking amongst themselves and Hogan took a deep breath. He needed to cause a distraction that would shut Marya up but it was one he was reluctant about.

He threw his arms around Marya and tilted her head to his. He brought their lips together in a kiss. Marya opened her mouth and enthusiastically returned it. Hogan responded with his suppressed desire- she was still a woman. When they finally broke apart, Hogan could hear the waiters giving him cheers of encouragement as they walked back out. His eyes were focused on Marya, who looked like the cat who had got a hold of the cream. The crisis was averted- but not for long.

"So I give you information about Von Heiner now? Or wait until I am at Stalag 13?" she asked.

Hogan frantically looked to see if someone heard but he was ecstatic as the only one coming into the kitchen was... Kinch.

Kinch was happy to see his commanding officer but he could tell something was wrong. His eyes widened as he noticed the woman near Hogan. Although Kinch had never been introduced, he had a feeling he knew exactly who she was. Kinch was ashamed- how could he have let Marya inside? He could tell Hogan either wanted out of the kitchen or he wanted Marya out. Kinch didn't blame him.

He took Marya by the arm swiftly.

"Foxy, let's take your pet and stroll out of here, shall we?" Kinch asked.

Marya glared at him.

"And if I refuse?"

"I wasn't talking to you; I was talking to the stole." he replied back.

Marya frowned.

"This is a rabbit…not a fox." she stated.

Kinch looked down at the stole.

"It is? Then I guess he and his pet will be hopping out of here. This way…" he said.

Marya let out an angry shout as she was led away by Kinch. She watched as Hogan gave her a sarcastic wave goodbye.

Kinch dragged Marya outside. He handed the White Russian over to Lt. Maurice DuBois, who had watched the entrance of the club during Kinch's short absence.

"This woman needs a taxi quickly. She needs to visit every arrondissement." Kinch ordered.

Marya gave him another glare.

"And make her pay for it." Kinch smirked.

Kinch breathed a sigh of relief as the bicycle taxi arrived. After thanking DuBois, he went back quickly inside to make amends to Colonel Hogan.

When Kinch walked back into the kitchen, Hogan was still washing the dishes. Hogan appeared more relaxed.

"Sorry for not rescuing you sooner, sir. That was a close one, right?" Kinch asked.

Hogan nodded.

"This is one to remember. I never thought I'd see the day when Colonel Hogan is pushing a lady away." Kinch laughed.

Hogan merely rolled his eyes at him.

THE END

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Author's Notes:

The story about La Tour d'Argent is mostly true. Obviously, the part about serving Hogan is not but I have to think that the owner would have been sympathetic to someone of Hogan's standing if he were real:

"Perhaps the darkest hour for the restaurant was during World War II, when the German army forced owner Claude Terrail to keep it open so that the likes of Field Marshal Hermann Goering could enjoy its signature dish: pressed duck served in its blood.

But Terrail had taken the precaution of walling up the cellars just before the Wehrmacht took control of Paris.

He served his Nazi guests cheap wines and eavesdropped on their conversations, passing on information to the French resistance."

Source: From a Business Daily Africa online article entitled "World's Best Wines Up for Sale in Paris"

About Jerusalem artichokes as a food staple for the Parisians:

" In France they are associated, along with rutabagas, with the deprivations of the years of Nazi Occupation during World War II, where the rationing and scarcity of traditional foods made them a regular part of the French diet until at the end of the war they returned to their customary role as animal feed.[11] "

Source: From Wikipedia entry on Jerusalem artichokes

Kinch's Nephew:

If you guessed that Kinch's nephew is suffering from autism, you are correct. By 1943, Leo Kanner of Johns Hopkins Hospital only had diagnosed 11 cases of autism in the United States, although the term "autism" was actually coined by Eugen Bleuler in 1910.

Source: In a Different Key: The Story of Autism – by John Donvan and Caren Zucker

Bicycle Taxi:

"Gasoline was unavailable to private people in France during the war, so cars disappeared almost completely from circulation. Instead, bicycles became predominant in urban traffic. A nice bicycle not only was a means of transportation, but also a status symbol. Zucca's photos show numerous _vélo-taxis_. Since private cars and taxis no longer were available, cyclists pulling trailers provided convenient transportation for rich Parisians. Tandem taxis were faster, but cost twice as much."

Source: From a blog entitled: Cycling Under the German Occupation: Off the Beaten Path (Contains Zucca's propaganda photos of Occupied Paris)


End file.
